Spider Fingers
by ABitterRabbit
Summary: "Do you remember this place?" "Y...Yes, I think so." She knew where this was...and what, but...the unanswered question was when? Joseph Buquet sighed wearily. "Very well, but...whatever you do, keep away from the little staircase by the footlights, do you understand?" She obeyed without protest...until an unforeseen encounter with a spider-fingered man and a trapdoor.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

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 _A ring._

 _An age-old geometrical shape. Eternity._

 _The symbol is interwoven into the physical world around us._

 _From this humans fashioned a tangible object._

 _It not only united two souls forever, but symbolized a man and woman's possession of each other._

 _Every ring serves its task in nature; in life._

 _Except for one._

 _One simple, gold band that accompanied a man to his grave._

 _It knew Death before life._

 _It is said that spirits can be trapped in mirrors._

 _What of longing in a ring?_


	2. Chapter I: An Opportune End

**_Chapter I:_** _ **An Opportune**_ _ **End**_ _ **.**_

 _"_ _ _The death of a beautiful woman, is by far the most poetical topic in the world."__ _– Edgar Allan Poe_

 _ _Everything was painted red.__

 _ _That glorious, hideous hue that devoured everything it laid its burning touch upon. This night,__ _ _it seemed, was the last taste of disappointment she would__ _ _be given__ _ _, and then it would__ _ _end__ _ _.__ _ _She would take nothing with her to her grave,__ _ _save the burden of disappointment.__

 _ _She watched__ _ _her very being crumble into nothing, all her efforts__ _ _were wasted.__ _ _Years of toil, of penny-pinching, of struggle and this was her reward? A death she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. Her eyes burned as the smoke-invaded air assaulted her vision. She coughed and gagged with every breath, the smoke constricting, squeezing her lungs. She was trapped in this inferno.__

 _ _The flames sucked greedily at the vibrant hue of the lavish, velvet curtains, and golden statues of beautiful women surrendered to the intense heat that turned the auditorium into an enormous kiln. The heavens of the hall, painted by the hands of Marc Chagall, w__ _ _ere__ _ _now a__ _ _raging hell where the celebrated composers of Mozart and Wagner were consumed by the darkness of imminent death. The chandelier fizzed and cracked, light bulbs exploding into sparks. With a groan, the mass plummeted down onto the seats below, spreading the flames. Carbon-dioxide replaced the sweet air that her lungs shrieked for. The blazing temperature overwhelmed her body and the__ _ _delicate fabric__ _ _of her dress did little to protect her.__

 _ _The girl tried to scream, over and over again,__ _ _hand c__ _ _law__ _ _ing__ _ _at her throat.__ _ _A__ _ _cry of utter torment__ _ _from__ _ _the__ _ _utmost__ _ _depths__ _ _of hellfire. Twisting her body to the side, she retched__ _ _violently__ _ _.__ _ _Exhaustion overtook her -__ _ _mind__ _ _dancing on a slippery slope__ _ _between desperation and stupor.__

 _ _The girl lay crumpled on the flaming stage, one leg pinned underneath a fallen beam, hands bruised, and nails broken from her efforts to free herself.__

 _ _This was it. She wasn't__ _ _leaving__ _ _.__ _ _This was the__ _ _grim reality of her fate.__ _ _The woman__ _ _wept bitterly, angrily.__

 _ _Ash.__

 _ _Ash was all that she had come to be in the end.__

 _ _Not even__ _dust_ _ _.__

 _ _Life had made a mockery of her, bringing her hopes up, only to send her reeling to the ground once again.__ _ _T__ _ _hings__ _ _had gone__ _ _wrong -horribly wrong. Was this punishment for running from reality? For being so stubborn? Or was she simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time?__

 _"_ _Why?_ _ _" her voice cracked.__

 _ _An ugly sound brought her attention upward. One by one, the steel wires holding up the catwalks snapped apart -like threads of cotton. The catwalk seemed to fall slowly, hurtling down toward the girl.__

 _ _Through the haze, one last nonsensical thought came to her mind, before it was enveloped in the icy__ _ _grip__ _ _of oblivion__ _ _.__

 _ _...__ _ _T__ _ _he ring__ _ _...__ _ _I still have the ring...__

…

 _On_ _May 1_ _8_ _th_ _201- c_ _ame_ _an_ _opportune_ _end within the old Palais Garnier._ _  
_


	3. Chapter II: Fear

**Chapter II:** ** **Fear**** ** **.****

 _"_ _ _Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous amounts of energy merely to be normal."__ _\- Albert Camus_

 _ _Paris, 201-__

The girls were going out for drinks again. She had heard them talk about it eagerly as she switched out of her leotard and into her street-clothes in the change-room. She was not a drinker, but just the thought of spending time with someone after work sounded...nice. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she wandered down the corridors of the Palais Garnier. After the construction of the modern Opéra de Paris Bastille, the Garnier was now mainly used for ballet performances. She loved walking through the majestic building -a little piece of the past that had survived the pass of time.

The girl reached the grand staircase, where a head of blonde hair made her halt and nearly retreat. They hadn't left yet? Then...then that meant she could-! She swallowed.

Two hands shook as they fumbled clumsily with the zipper of a hoodie.

Today was the day.

The young woman tried her best to breath normally, her eyes glancing nervously at the group of women walking in front of her. Lucy, Nicole, and Katherine. Yes, she'd memorized their names a while back. They were always in such high spirits, smiling and laughing with each other in the way that only close friends did.

It looked so wonderful.

Yes, today she would finally say hello. It was just one word, one word with two syllables and five letters. That was all it took. People did it all the time, right?

One step. Two steps. Three steps. Fou- what if they thought she was rude for interrupting their conversation? Her face paled. After all, she'd never spoken to them before. She'd barely even held eye-contact longer than five seconds. What if she forgot what to say? What if they just brushed her off? What if her breath smelled funny? Perspiration bubbled to the surface of her palms, and her heart thumped quickly in her chest. The urge to avoid interaction seeped into her stomach. There was still time to leave, they probably hadn't even noticed her.

 **Thud.**

Her eyes widened. She watched in silent horror as the plastic water bottle rolled away from her and toward the three girls.

 ** _Oh no._**

Nicole picked it up, a smile on her face as she made her way over to the person who had dropped it.

"Hullo, you dropped this. You're Nina right?" Nicole's smile widened when she saw that Nina's cheeks had turned pink. The blonde dancer held it out kindly, but Nina was unable to react. Her mind was racing with things to say: _ _Thank you.__ _ _How do you keep your hair from escaping its bonds while dancing?__ _ _I saw you__ _ _practising__ _ _your solo, you were great.__ _Nothing came_ out. A clumsy nod, and a shaky hand taking back the blue object were the only responses she could manage.

 _Why? Why did she have to be like this?_ Nina could dance around in nothing but a towel at home with her cat, but out here, she felt so...afraid. Heck, even asking for extra napkins or going grocery shopping was nerve racking, and in the end, she wouldn't -couldn't.

"Right, well, do you want to have dinner with us? There's a great restaurant a couple blocks from here. Lucy is driving." The blonde woman gestured to her friends standing next to the entrance.

Nina's mouth went dry, eyes widening. The excitement was bubbling up inside her, but as soon as it had, the anxiety -the fear- devoured the sliver of happiness, of hope. A restaurant was a place to eat. Nina loved food.But she _hated_ eating in public; her hands would shake so badly that she'd either get food on herself or spill her drink on the table. And if things got really bad, she'd break out in a case of hiccups.

 _No._ She couldn't risk the embarrassment. They'd never approach her again if she caused a scene like that.

Slowly, almost sadly, the shorter woman shook her head. With a clammy hand, she pointed to her throat.

Nicole's eyes lit up, "Oh. Sore throat? That's okay, you should go home and rest", she smiled sympathetically. "Maybe next time, when you feel better."

And just like that, the cheerful blonde turned with a wave and returned to Lucy and Katherine. Where she belonged. Nina's eyes gazed after them as the three ballerinas walked out of the opera house.

Face burning with shame, she exited the building. Her gaze was trained on the ground while she headed home. The interaction she'd had with Nicole replayed itself continuously in her mind, things she could have said and things she should have done now coming to mind. So many if's. It was a pity. She was usually hungry after rehearsal.

Maybe Nicole hadn't really wanted her to go. It was just a polite offer, nothing more.

 _ _There w__ _ _o__ _ _n't be a next time...__

Nina couldn't help but feel that the statues smiled down at her in contempt as she crossed the street.


	4. Chapter III: Insomnia

A/N: Hello! I want to thank those who favourited and/or followed, those being: **MyHairSmellLikeChocolate, kittyitty6, and alexabird9.** Thank you so much, I really appreciate it! I really hope you enjoy this chapter:) Reviews are welcomed, I really like hearing the reader's opinions and constructive criticism, it keeps me going.

Disclaimer: I, Black'n'ivorykeys, do not own The Phantom of the Opera. All rights belong to Gaston Leroux. All OC's belong to me.

As always, please read and review if you feel it's merited. It let's me know if my ideas are worth continuing:)

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Chapter III: **Insomnia.**

" _Insomnia is a form of torture. While the world is fast asleep, you're up in the dark of the night, your mind is racing with millions of thoughts and eventually everything reaches a standstill. Your mind goes blank, you become more aware of the silence and suddenly, you realize how utterly alone you are."_

 _\- Anonymous_

Ballet was such an amazing sport, and Nina found that it was something that helped her take her mind off her own issues when she was preoccupied with dancing with the rest of the corps de ballet. However, those coveted silk pointe shoes hid terrible injuries in the world of the professionals. Broken toe-nails, blisters, fractures, corns, bunions- Nina had seen it all. She could recall one time when a principal dancer told them about the time her Achilles' tendon had snapped during a solo and she had danced through the pain for the rest of the night.

The young woman winced as her shoe pressed against a bruise on the side of her foot. _Yes, ballerinas were very, very tough indeed._ She had been fortunate though, the most painful injury she had experienced was a sprained ankle. Nina got her fair share of blisters and bruises, but she took almost obsessive care of her feet.

As long as she never had to dance in Swan Lake, she'd survive. Nina snickered as she remembered something she'd read in an article.

 _'Dance of the Cygnets? More like Murder on the Dancefloor.'_

Not far from the truth. It made her wonder if Tchaikovsky had ever stopped to ask the dancers what they thought about the constant pointe.

Her grandmother had always told her that one had to put in twice as much as one wanted to give. She slowed to a stop, leaning against the side of a building. The dancer looked up at the sky. Nina had worked hard to get where she was. She was not a principal dancer, but the simple fact that she belonged to the corps was hard for her to believe. However, it was only a step in the right direction. _I've worked hard to become a dancer,_ she thought as she glanced at the direction where the Opéra Bastille was, _but I want more._ _I want to sing along with the music._ Her eyes watered, and she clasped her hands together, bringing them to her lips. _Have faith in me, Papá, I came to France for a reason._

Drawing her attention back to her surroundings, she exhaled and started walking once more. A few minutes later she nearly cried with joy at the sight of her building. Nina's apartment was a modest one. But she loved it. It was small and cozy, and the only place she felt comfortable with herself. Yearning for the asylum of her home, she trudged up the worn stairs to her floor. Her stomach growled like it was blaming her for its distress, placing a hand over it, she patted it comfortingly.

The walk from the opera to Rue Laffitte, where she lived, was only a ten minute walk. But she had danced and rehearsed with the rest of the corps all day, so her muscles felt like boulders. She lived on the fifth floor. It was an old building, but it was clean, something Nina was grateful for. Finally she reached her door, and groaned silently to herself.

 _'I wonder if a pair of crutches could be incorporated into act II of Giselle...'_

She unlocked the door and entered. A sharp hiss drew her attention, and she smiled.

"Don't get your whiskers in a knot, Edgar. It's just me, you know, the one who takes care of the rent and pays for your sardine addiction?" Nina teased as she kicked off her sneakers and dropped her red duffle bag on a chair.

A lean tomcat approached her, curling around her legs affectionately. He wasn't the most adorable feline, after an unfortunate run-in with the landlord's German Shepherd, Edgar had lost an eye and part of his left ear had been torn off. Scars from the scuffle marked his lower back as well. He had probably been left to fend for himself by a previous tenant of the building, considering the fact that he'd bitten her on their first encounter. Despite this, she had somehow managed to befriend him, after many scratches and hostile hissing on his part. He was such an attention-seeker once he'd gotten comfortable.

The dancer grinned, "Oh, trying to butter me up, are we?" The smile reached her eyes while she gave the Bombay a scratch under the chin. "Well, you'll have to forgive me but my feet are in need of attention."

Stripping off her street-clothes, she changed into a baggy t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Nina looked over at her little kitchen. She really didn't have the energy to cook herself dinner.

"Takeout?" Her tapped her bottom lip with a finger as she thought out-loud.

Her eyes strayed to the phone. "Never mind, I'd have to talk over the phone." She settled with some left-over curry she'd made the day before. Popping the bowl into the microwave, she collapsed on the couch.

Nina washed her feet in a small tub with a bar of soap she knew wouldn't dry out her skin, and then propped them feet up on a stool to let them air-dry. A few hours later, her nose was buried in her well-worn copy of Frankenstein, her eyes devouring the novel eagerly. She had just finished reading The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and had decided to re-read Mary Shelley's masterpiece. Just as she neared the part where the Victor's creation came to life, Chopin's Nocturne Op.9 no.2 broke through the silence of her living room. She glanced at her cellphone, wearily. Her eyes strayed to the clock on her wall, tempted not to answer and simply allow her ringtone to soothe her.

Nina placed the book on the coffee-table, burying her face into a throw-pillow with a loud groan. After her failed attempt at social interaction earlier, she wasn't in the mood for another wave of anxiety. Even so, it was possible that it was from Miss Adessi and that woman was nothing if not adamant about Nina answering her calls and emails. Biting her lip, she swiped the screen and did her utmost to keep her voice from shaking.

"H-Hello?"

 **"Good evening,** **am I speaking to** **Miss Veltrá** **n?"** The voice was deep and warm, he sounded well into his years. Nina felt her cheeks flush; she was speaking to a stranger. Her voice grew small.

"...Ou..i."Nina wanted to kick herself. She really had to start going back to therapy. It would have been so much easier if people simply wrote letters to each other like they did in the past. She was able to express herself so eloquently when it wasn't coming out of her actual mouth, and to a living, breathing person. _Now inanimate objects and creatures not of her species on the other hand **...**_

 **"Wonderful, allow me to introduce myself, this is Emile Moreau. I work at l'Opèra Bastille, and I recently conversed with your mentor, Miss Adessi. As you know we held vocal auditions for our new apprenticeship program at the Bastille two months ago. I am happy to tell you that you are being seriously considered for a spot as an apprentice."**

Nina had the urge to laugh. Or pass out. Or both. Her hands were ice cold; the fingers were clumsy and heavy around the mobile.

She had done it.

Nina's eyes welled up with tears as a hand flew to her mouth. Hers vision was blurry. She felt elated. Her heart swelled inside her chest and it felt like it would burst from emotion. This couldn't be real, was she dreaming again? When she'd been diagnosed with social anxiety at the age of fourteen, it was like the world had caved in on her. A person with social-anxiety singing opera as a profession? She'd been told it was hereditary and that her mother had suffered from it as a child, but it had gone away as she grew older. This had not been the case for Nina. In her mind it was as though the psychiatrist had blatantly stated that something was wrong with her, and then the subject of medication had reared its ugly head.

 **"Hello?"** Mr. Moreau's voice brought her attention back to the conversation.

"S-Sorry-"

Emile laughed good-naturedly, **"That's all right, I can only imagine the things going through your mind right now."** This brought an embarrassed blush to her cheeks.

He continued, **"** **There is another matter I wanted to inform you of** **.** **You see, Miss Atwood is starring as** **Micaëla** **in our production of Carmen this season, but she came down with a terrible case of strep throat. Her understudy is unable to perform due to her son being ill. Now we are in need of a replacement for Sunday's production, and the aria you performed happened to be** **Micaëla's."**

The smile on Nina's face turned into a look of utter confusion. Before she could get a single word out Moreau interrupted her attempt.

 **"I know you are part of the Paris Opera Ballet, yes? The last performance of Giselle at the Garnier tomorrow sounds quite marvellous. Miss Adessi has arranged for you to meet with the rest of the cast at the Opera Bastille for the next three days to rehearse the role for Sunday. We know how rushed this is, but this is a rare, and singular occurrence. Do take this opportunity and use it well, Miss Veltrán."**

Nina felt numb, "Y...Yes."

 **"Perfect, we'll see you soon. Bonne chance with tomorrow's ballet and have a good night."**

"Thank...you..."

The line went dead.

Nina stared blankly at her phone for a few minutes. She felt like a car door had just slowly shut on her soul. She'd been yearning pleading, _dreaming_ for a chance like this since she was little...but the reality of the urgency, the importance, and the lack of time for her mental preparation to be on that stage, alone, and singing an aria from one of the most celebrated operas of all time paralyzed her. Being part of the corps was different, she was in the background, safely tucked away from sight amidst 149 other dancers as they moved as one unit to the sea of notes floating up from the orchestra.

In those moments, just for a few seconds, she felt something close to belonging.

Although, her lack of friends would always make it clear that it was not so. It was just her and Edgar.

This, this was vastly different. Uncharted waters she had now been pushed to explore, but with no map or compass to guide her. Because with all of Miss Adessi's help, Nina still lived in fear of the people that surrounded her. She was not an introvert. She needed, wanted, craved human interaction, but it never worked out.

God, she was so angry. She hated this. Hated it with all her being. This was not who she wanted to be. This was not the life she wanted to live, but she was trapped and only she could free herself. But she didn't know how. She'd never had.

"I don't know if I can do this." She whispered hoarsely. "What if I forget the words? What if they don't like me?" Edgar, drawn by the sound of Nina's stifled sobs, jumped up onto the sofa. The black feline made no sound, and simply settled onto his owner's lap. Bitter tears seeped through the crack of her fingers and landed on his fur, but he stayed put. The girl noticed the animal's warmth and pulled her face out of her shaking hands. Her dark eyes were red and puffy, not that anyone was particularly radiant after crying. A half-hearted smile adorned her lips whilst she gazed down at her loyal companion.

"Sorry for getting your fur wet, I know you hate it." Nina laughed softly.

Edgar gingerly rubbed his head against her stomach, like he was unsure of what else to do. He really was such an awkward cat, but she loved him all the same. Animals didn't judge. Not like people did. A pale, olive hand stroked his fur affectionately. Wiping her tears away and blowing her nose rather noisily, Nina let out a loud sigh.

"I think it's going to be one of those nights, Poe." She told her cat. His ears twitched and he hopped off her lap to curl up in his own corner of the couch. He was aware of the routine that would follow.

Running a hand through her hair, she got up to change into a pair of jeans and a cardigan. Nina grabbed her keys and wallet before putting on a pair of boots. A scarf could be used to hide her face if she needed to.

"I'm going for a walk, don't go terrorizing any birds." Edgar ignored her in favour of sleep.

"Love you too, Sardines-for-brains."

...

She didn't know nor care what time it was when she hopped off the metro at Denfert-Rochereau.

Nina had managed to avoid attention by wrapping her scarf in a way that covered part of her face and popping in her earbuds for the whole journey. She was especially well-versed in the art of avoiding eye-contact.

Dmitri Shostakovich's Second waltz emanated from her earbuds and helped to soothe her troubled mind to some extent. Ebony eyes lit up at the sight of one of her favourite places in Paris.

It was nothing eye-catching, that was for sure. Just a simple hut made of dark green metal.

The Catacombs.

Nina's red scarf hid her large grin as she thought of the skulls and bones beneath the very streets she walked on.

Her heart thumped rapidly as she paid for her ticket and began her descent down the spiral stairs into the world below. Her guide was also accompanied by a group of about fifteen German tourists.

The entrance was magnificent, well, at least Nina thought so. It had an engraved message above:

 **Arrête! C'est ici l'Empire de la Mort.**

 _Stop! Here lies the Empire of Death._

Edgar Allan Poe would have loved it down here.

There didn't seem to be many people at this time, so it was most likely the last admission of the day. Down, down, down went Nina. She'd counted the steps to reach the belly of Paris: 130 steps down and 60 feet deep into the underground. The stairs were long and seemed like they could go on forever. It was dark. It was eerie. It was old. And Nina loved every second of it. She felt like she was entering a secret world.

The guide was busy speaking with the others, explaining what they were about to see and experience.

Finally, after many stairs, they arrived. The stone passageways were narrow and filled with musty, humid air. One had to be careful not to slip as they walked. Nina's eyes roved over the walls made of human bones. It was amazing to know that in the end, humans were all the same after death. All these bones had belonged to millions of different individuals, and now they all came to rest here. Together.

Breathtaking.

It truly was the Empire of Death.

It was ironic that she was surrounded by vast quantities of deceased humans, but she felt so at ease; whereas, she withered like a moonflower in sunlight around a single, living person.

"Good job, Nina, that'll really help you out in life...if you decide to move to a graveyard." The young woman muttered to herself dryly in her mother tongue.

Her eyes swept the walls as she walked. Digging into her shoulder-bag for a piece of gum, her keys fell out of her pocket and onto the ground. Embarrassed, she heard a couple of the tourists laugh. They were laughing at her now. Great. She always succeeded in making a spectacle of herself, didn't she?

Lovely.

The dancer crouched and reached for her keys. She frowned when she ran her fingers against her palm. It was dry and chalky. _She really had to_ _remember to carry some hand-sani-_

"Huh?"

She'd seen something glint in front of her. It was difficult to tell in the dim lighting. Nina's eyes narrowed as she drew closer to the wall. A golden glint caught her eye. It seemed to be stuck between a skull and a femur against the ground. Her right hand reached toward the bones, her hesitant fingers unfurling.

She stopped for a moment. Maybe it was best to leave it alone. It wasn't like it was something of hers. Nonetheless, the curiosity of her find was more than enough to nudge her forward. Her fingers delved between the white bones, and grabbed hold of something hard and cold to the touch. It didn't _feel_ like bone, no, more like some type of metal. She glanced over to the guide, worried he was watching her. Fortunately, he was lost in a flirtatious conversation with one particularly pretty, redheaded tourist.

Turning back to the task at hand and filled with intrigue, the girl tugged on the cool object and out it came.

"A ring?" Nina whispered -puzzled.

It was a plain, gold wedding band. Nothing spectacular, but no doubt valuable. Why would something like this be in the underground cemetery of Paris? Her mind raced with questions, theories, possibilities. Perhaps it had belonged to a soldier in the revolution. Nina frowned slightly and shook her head. No, no, it was too small to fit on a man's finger. It must have belonged to a woman. Maybe a tourist had dropped it? Though she couldn't imagine why anyone would leave such a perfectly good ring with a bunch of human remains. ' _Unless it_ _'s_ _some type of deranged serial killer...'_ , Nina mused.

It had to be old, of course. The gold was dirty and dull, both inside and out, which indicated neglect and a lack of use. She looked for some type of engraving, but found none. Not one. She heard the guide talking and quickly stood up, brushing off her jeans. The ring in her pocket. Now, Nina wasn't greedy, but apart from knowing that she wouldn't be able to explain how she obtained the ring and why she was picking between the bones in the first place, there was something about it that caused her a heavy sense of gloom.

It perplexed the girl, despite something inside her telling her to leave it where she had found it.

 _She didn't. She wouldn't. She couldn't._

And she hadn't the slightest idea why.

During the rest of the tour, her fingers stayed in her cardigan's pocket. Feeling the gold band over and over again as though she would find the answer to her questions through touch. Nearing the end of the tour, she slyly polished the gold with a handkerchief she kept in her bag. The guides always checked everyone's bags when the tour was over to make sure no one had stolen bones from the catacombs. It wouldn't make sense if they found a wedding band just jostling around in her purse, so she slid it onto her ring finger.

A chill went up her spine as an oddly cold breeze blew through the air, ruffling her hair and clothes.

Nina's eyes came to rest upon the gelid band encircling the flesh of her finger. It was stupid, but it felt more like a shackle than a ring.

Once she'd reached the surface of Paris, she laughed quietly to herself. Honestly, the talk with Moreau had rattled her nerves so much she was going a little loopy. Despite the insomnia that plagued her due to the event coming up in a few days time, she really needed to get some sleep. Tomorrow was the last performance of Giselle, and she had to embody a female ghost of Slavic folklore in act II.

Not something she was entirely sure about, after all she wasn't exactly well acquainted with death.

Nina headed toward the metro smiling at her quirky sense of humour.

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 _A/N: Penny for your thoughts?:)_


	5. Chapter IV: White

A/N: Hello! I'd like to thank all those who followed/favorited and/or reviewed! Those being: **alexabird9, ShadowsInTheMind, AResidentGhost, and breannapierson1990.** Thank you so much! I really do appreciate the gesture, it helps me as writer in the manner of feedback and gives me the motivation to keep this story going:) You have no idea how big I smile when I see these in my inbox; seriously, my face hurts, but I can't stop. Your reviews are my bread and butter, and I love any sort of feedback and constructive criticism. There's always room for me to improve:)

Disclaimer: I, Black'n'IvoryKeys do not own the plot or charcaters of the Phantom of the Opera. All rights belong to Gaston Leroux, and Susan Kay.

All right, as always here's the next chapter:) Please read and review if you think it's merited!

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Chapter IV: **White.**

" _The boundaries which divide Life and Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allan Poe_

The sky had darkened above the city of Paris. The Garnier glowed amidst the inky shadows of the night like soft candlelight. The light illuminated the golden statues that stood watch on the structure's roof, their mighty wings spread out toward the cloudy heavens.

Disbelief, betrayal, madness- these were the emotions that Giselle brought to life on the stage before a crowd of awed spectators. Nicole danced her role marvellously; her emotions all too real at the news of her lover's deceit. The denial was strong at first, but soon the reality of her situation hit her with all the force of a storm. Giselle spiralled into insanity with wild pirouettes and bitter tears.

The dark eyed girl repeatedly rearranged and smoothed her long tulle skirt. Her eyes closed tightly as she took deep breaths; her chest rose and fell with each one. The backstage of the auditorium was abuzz with twenty-six ballerinas -including herself and Myrrha- dressed in the purest of whites, flowing armbands of tulle, and each with a crown of white blossoms adorning their hair. Her fingertips gently trailed over the delicate lace patterns that decorated her bodice. She could always picture a spider weaving the elegant patterns with its silky, silver thread. With a steady exhale, she looked to the mirror before her. No matter how many times she wore this costume, it was strange to witness how it transformed her. The dress was a ghostly white, frayed at the bottom of the skirt, it served as the wedding gown of a forgotten bride. It was curious how brave one had to be to wear such a bright shade. It was the colour of light. It drew the eye and beckoned the sun's rays to reflect off its snowy hue.

Black was safe. Black was muted. Black was for the vulnerable.

It was the colour of those who hid themselves, for those who were too fragile for the world the sun shined upon. They ran to the asylum that the moon provided.

Nina was unsure of where she stood. Nonetheless, she knew it only mattered if she'd walk alone or accompanied. She had yet to find another soul in the moon's domain, but she dreaded the burn that might accompany the act of stepping over the sun's boundaries.

This form, dressed in pallor, granted a subtle power she didn't possess in her own shoes. White was her armour, transforming her into a creature that through sorrow and a broken-heart had survived –had obtained freedom in the arms of Death. Or had they?

The Wilis felt no sorrow, no fury, no loneliness…but they did not love. They had bartered one master for another. No longer bound by man, but chained to serve the beautiful, emotionless Queen Myrrha. They would dance for eternity alongside a cruel mistress, and any man unlucky enough to cross their path would receive the penalty of death. Such was the will of these jilted ghosts.

 _'Love sounds far more miserable than happy.'_ The young woman gnawed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. She twiddled her thumbs behind her back.

Why the media made it appear so wonderful and blissful was beyond her. The idea of feeling so deeply...so passionately about someone was frankly unfathomable to Nina. Besides, people nowadays fell _out_ of love as quickly as they fell _in_. Her lips tipped downward; a small frown curling the corners of her mouth. Not to mention the common occurrence that was unrequited love. Yes, romantic affections were far more terrifying than any horror story. Dying of a broken heart seemed like nonsense, but as it turned out, doctors had proved it to be true. The woman sighed, she'd been fortunate. She'd never felt anything close to love of that kind. Attraction was apparently no match fro the anxiety her mind associated it with.

"Nina!"

She looked over her shoulder to see Ms. Adessi waving at her with the enthusiasm she always carried. The older woman made a gesture for her to come near, and Nina gave a quick glance to Mr. Guillaume, the current ballet master in chief. He was kind, but he took his work very, very seriously. Nothing set him off like an idle dancer. Quickly, she joined Ms. Adessi.

The woman's caramel hair was perfectly styled -as always. Her smile was lined with dainty lipstick that Nina had never dared to wear. _She'd do something stupid like get it on her teeth..._

"I almost didn't recognize you, sweetie. So, how are you feeling? There's no need to be nervous, you're perfectly capable of-", a cellphone's melody cut her off. "You'll have to excuse for a minute."

Nina gave her a faint smile, and watched as her organizer walked away and stepped out and into the corridor. Friendly, ambitious, confident- that was Martina Adessi. She could certainly tire the young dancer out with her energetic personality, but Nina was fond of her in the end.

"All right! As we rehearsed ladies, get into position! It is nearly time for the Wilis to enter the stage." Guillaume's sharp voice drew her attention like a whip.

As she brushed a strand of black hair from her face, something cool touched her skin. Her eyes lit up when she remembered the gold ring on her finger. Her head turned from side to side while she scrambled to think of wear to keep it. Her things were in the dressing room and she had no time to go back. Her costume had no pockets of any kind. Her eyes snapped to the hall, of course! Ms. Adessi could hold onto it for her, she'd simply place it in her purse.

Winding around props and staff members, she pulled off the ring and grasped the door knob with the other hand. The Italian woman's back was turned to the door; the red mobile against her ear. Nina opened the door just enough so her arm could slip through to reach the leather purse. She had to hurry before-

" _What?_ Honestly Moreau! This had better be some sort of sick **joke** on your part." Martina laughed humorlessly.

Nina stilled. Moreau?

Her shoulders grew taut, and she held her breath, afraid of being caught. Yet she didn't make any move to leave. The air felt heavy.

Martina's hand rested on her hip, and the sole of her black stiletto tapped impatiently against the floor. "I simply can't believe you'd change your mind because of her medical history. It's not-", Moreau appeared to interrupt her. "Why should it matter if she has social anxiety or not? No, you listen here, I don't give a damn if you're scared about having to refund a full house! All she needs is a chance! Just one! Do you know how hard I've had it? I've met with so many people, and as soon as I even mention it they run off with their tail between their legs. No. No, Moreau- Moreau. _Moreau? Damn it_ _Moreau!_ " The rage made Martina's accent more and more prominent.

It was too late once she'd turned around. It was like Nina had never been there.

The dark-haired dancer stuffed the ring into her bodice shakily. There was a large lump in her throat that was just begging to come out. She wouldn't let it, because as soon as it did, there would be no stopping the tears. Martina had defended her, but it only made the shame hurt all the more. She'd made the older woman waste her time, her efforts in looking for an opportunity that would never be for her.

Dad had been right after all.

She would never make it as a singer. It was just a stupid, stupid dream. And she was only just waking up.

Nina wouldn't have been shocked if she saw red staining her costume above her chest. She could swear that her heart had been ripped out of her breast while it was still beating. She was in shock, and soon the pain would hit her like a tidal wave. It was no different than when grandfather had passed.

Somehow, she mustered the will to find her place in the wing. Numb hands placed the long, white gossamer veil over her head. Nina tried to steady her breathing, Myrrha was finishing her solo, and soon the Wilis would have to appear on stage. She couldn't mess this up. Dancing was all she had left. The young woman felt hollow -empty.

One by one, the Wilis entered the stage with steps as light as air. They made no sound whatsoever as the machine-produced fog curled around their white legs. Listening to the music, Nina willed herself to drown in it. To get lost in the role that once had eluded her. Well now it was only too fitting. She had been jilted by the only lover she'd ever had -a dream that had closed its doors in her face without a second glance. Music. Music could drown her in the best of ways, and as long as that orchestra kept playing, she would be able to keep herself together. The melody was gentle, almost happy, but sadness could be gentle as well.

Nina poured everything into her movements. Each of the emotions raging inside her, were embodied by her movements. Anger, shame, sorrow- each and every one seeped into her dance. She could feel the ring in her bodice, pressed against her hot skin. How she wanted to forget everything. If she hadn't overheard that one cellphone conversation, she could have lived in ignorant hope for just a while longer.

Her eyes stung sharply, but she ignored it.

Why couldn't she be like Nicole? Why did she have to love something that was so cruelly unattainable for her? It hurt. It hurt so much. She wanted...she wanted... Her temples throbbed. What did she want? Her whole life had been centred around music. What would she do now?

Go back home to her parents? The embarrassment of her failure was already torture in itself. She could already picture the look of pity in her mother's eyes, and the look of disappointment in her father's. She should have listened to him. She should have listened to the therapist.

She just wasn't good enough. And she never would be.

It was time to grow up.

Why was it such a shock? She could barely hold a conversation with Martina, let alone sing in front of a whole auditorium. Nina didn't have the nerve to stand up for herself, and the profession of an opera singer was a tough one. She was too soft.

Her skirts fanned out with a smooth pirouette. She avoided the eyes of her fellow dancers, were they aware of her inner turmoil? Was it obvious from her dancing? Could they see it on her face? Nina swallowed with difficulty. Her lips trembled, but she held it in. It would have been so useful if the Wilis kept their veils on.

Desperation. Nina could now understand the meaning of this word. She was desperate, desperate for a way out of the hole she'd dug herself into. She wanted to sing, more than anything.

Perhaps she would have made a deal with Mephistopheles herself if she had been in Faust's place. Heavens knew she was willing enough right now. There was no way she could really blame the man now.

Nina bit her lip, willing herself not to cry on stage.

 _'I want it. I want it more than anything. Please._ _ **Please**_ _. Just one chance, just one. I'd go through hell to have it. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of getting in my own way. I'm-'_

 _F..._

 _..body..._

 _...ire...out..._

Multiple voices resonated around her. Lost in her own thoughts, she opened her eyes -which she hadn't realized were closed- only to find staff-members on the stage. They were breathing hard, and shouting at the dancers and spectators. Nina eyes widened in fear, her pupils dilating as adrenaline coursed through her body.

 **"FIRE! EVERYBODY OUT! NOW!"**

The corps screamed, running off the stage in panic. The whole auditorium erupted in chaos. Blistering flames had sprung up from the floor beneath the seats. Her mind screamed at her to run as fast as she could. She found herself engulfed in a mob of people. She was shoved from every direction. Just as she managed to steady herself, a man in front of her drew his arm back and hit her in the temple. He was large, and the force was enough to send her reeling.

Pain shot through her head. Her hands flew to the wounded area, clutching at her throbbing skull. The crowd continued to push forward, and she stumbled to her knees. A glance over her shoulder, and she saw that her ankle had gotten tangled in some wires on the ground. She'd fallen behind the special-effects control board. Her heart raced as she struggled to get them off. You were always supposed to evacuate the building as soon as possible, before the fire had a chance to grow bigger. The pungent scent of smoke tainted the air, and the girl panicked further.

She had to get out!

"Wait!" She cried out as she yanked at the wires and kicked them away.

Nina ran across the backstage, panting while her hands held up her skirts.

She felt reassured at the sight of the door that led to the corridor. They were fire-proof; they sealed fires and kept them from spreading. She'd be safe. Tears of relief shined in her eyes.

Coughing, the young woman leaned against the door. Nina grabbed the handle urgently, turning it immediately and pushing against it with her side.

Her lips parted, and her breath hitched. A cold sweat bubbled onto her skin.

 _They'd locked her in._

* * *

To the lovelies who reviewed:

 **alexabird9** : Thank you! I'm really very flattered haha. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 **GRANDMA PAULA:** I really appreciate your feedback. My goal is to tell this story to its end:)

 **thebison:** Hello! It's been a while, and I have made quit a few changes to the story since you first reviewed. I really hope I was able to maintain the standard of work you enjoyed so much. Your review was really important to me, so thank you. I hope you liked this chapter.

 **The Phantomess 99:** Aw shucks, you made me turn into a tomato with your kind compliments! Thank you so much for the tip on writing multiple chapters, it was incredibly useful! I hope you enjoyed this chapter:3


	6. Chapter V: Questions

A/N: Okay, I'm really trying to update as consistently as I can, but lately I've been having some doubts about my writing, so I have a tendency to get discouraged. So it's not really writer's block that makes updating difficult *sweatdrops*. Thus, I'd really like to give a special thanks to those who followed and/or favourited, those being: **KE1966, MysteriousQuillPen, fopoftheoperahouse, and maraudergurl2010!** You lifted my spirits, so thank you:) As a writer, constructive criticism is always welcome along with feedback.

Disclaimer: I, Black'n'ivorykeys, do not own The Phantom of the Opera. All rights belong to Gaston Leroux and Susan Kay. All OC's belong to me as well as the original plotline.

As always, please read and review if you feel it's merited. It's like the oil that helps my gears from getting rusty:)

* * *

Chapter V: **Questions**

" _My own business always bores me to death, I prefer other peoples."_

 _\- Oscar Wilde_

 _Paris- 1880_

Sober, steady, and slow to imagine things- these were the qualities that the staff associated with the chief scene-shifter, Joseph Buquet.

It was a cool May morning as he walked out the door of his humble flat. He yawned loudly, scratching the pale skin of his neck with a rough hand. The house-key disappeared within the confines of his trouser's pocket, and he turned on his heels to walk down the streets of Paris. It was one of the grittier neighborhoods, but he simply shrugged it off as he did every day. Walking past a pawn shop, he caught sight of his reflection; his brown hair stuck up at curious angles, though he made no move to fix it.

Joseph simply put on his gray flat-cap with all the elegance a man of his station could muster. This would equal zero.

"Damn...", he yawned again. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes with one hand, a habit he had picked up as of the last few weeks.

He walked faster, picking up his pace as he moved around hansom cabs, carts and pedestrians. A drowsy haze clung to his eyelids, but the sturdy man blinked it away repeatedly with a scowl. Cursing quietly, he stepped over a broken liquor bottle. The muscles in his shoulders tightened while his fingers twitched briefly. He felt a faint prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

Picking up the pace, he turned into an alley. It was dimly-lit around this hour, and the scent of cigarette smoke made him cough. With a jerk of his head, the bones in his neck cracked. He was careful not to step in any grime he could avoid, for his boots were worn out enough as it were. His brow pinched when he felt a knife press against his lower back.

"Ya shouldn't have chosen this route in this part of town." The man's rancid breath wafted across the scene-shifter's face. Joseph didn't answer. The anonymous thug pressed the blade harder against his flesh.

"Are ya deaf or just stupid? I sai-", a sharp right hook collided with his jaw, and sent the man sprawling. Blood dribbled out his nose, staining his ragged shirt. Joseph fisted the fabric as he slammed his assaulter against the side of the alley. He scowled harshly as he stared the other man down. Bashing him against the wall a few times with enough strength to startle him, he drew his face close.

"Listen here, you bastard", Buquet's tone was heavy, "I am not in the mood to be threatened this early in the morning, you hear? I am far too tired to deal with your bullshit, and I cannot be late for work." He kicked the blade away with his boot. His eyes narrowed, "if I see you around here again, and God forbid, assaulting _anyone_ else, I will break your limbs and string you up by your neck."

The goon gaped at the older man; his Adam's apple bobbed up and down with every nervous gulp. The white of his eyes very nearly swallowed up his dilated pupils. Irritated, Buquet slammed him against the wall once more as if to physically drill it into his thick skull.

"Am. I. _Clear?_ "

The thug nodded feverishly.

Joseph let go, and the man just couldn't scramble away fast enough. One hand on the back of his neck and the other in his pocket, he resumed his pace down the dank alley. Despite the rank smell, his stomach growled in protest. His fingers brushed against the francs in his pocket. There was a small bakery near the Opera, so he might as well get a hot cup of coffee before heading to work. He pulled out his old pocket-watch to check the time. He was early. As usual. It was brighter now, and the alley was better lit by the sun's rays. It was closer to the end of the alley that he squinted at something on the ground by the wall.

The man decided against speaking, so as to not frighten the creature. _Could be a rabid dog,_ he sucked his teeth.

He neared the form, and found not an animal, but a person.

A girl.

Buquet stood a few steps away, staring in silence. He eyed her with scrutiny, from her head to her toes. She wore a bizarre dress, one that was more suited to a ballet than the streets. The white material was singed heavily at the edges as well as her hair. He couldn't see her face, but the pointe shoes gave her away. However, it was decidedly odd for a dancer, a woman at that, to be lying unconscious in such a rough part of Paris –alone. _Well, unless it was a certain **type** of woman, of course_ , he thought to himself with a snort. Turning his head this way and that as he scratched the back of his neck, Joseph tried to make sense of the situation. Of course, the ballet rats were known for their flirtatious ways, but he'd never expected to find one like _this_.

He walked over to her, and squatted with his arms resting on his thighs. Examining her, he gingerly brushed her matted hair away from her face. It was soft, but dull. The smell of smoke and ash clung to her like a chimney's perfume. Joseph's eyes ran over the chalky complexion and chapped lips. The delicate skin beneath her eyes was red and irritated as though she had been weeping profusely before she'd lost consciousness. He clicked his tongue.

"Looks like you went through hell and back, kid." Removing his cap he raked a calloused hand through his messy hair. He closed his eyes for a few minutes; his head bowed.

Joseph groaned, before he looked up toward the sky. It inevitable. Slapping the hat back onto his head brusquely, the Parisian scooped the girl up into his arms. He had to take a minute to find his balance, and so, he began his trek to the physician.

He received innumerable stares as he carried her down the street, but he didn't really give a damn. That was for those with titles who lived to be praised and gossiped about. Men of Joseph's station couldn't afford to stand around and mindlessly chatter like the housewives of the upper-class. He returned every gaze with a solemn look of his own, and it seemed to work just fine.

After a while, Buquet reached a nice flat in a safer neighbor-hood near la rue Peletier. He tried to shift the dead weight in his arms to knock on the door. Yet, as small as she was, it wasn't easy. Five minutes later, he rolled his eyes.

"Forget it."

His boot greeted the red door –rather _enthusiastically_ \- three times. He was met with silence for several minutes. Joseph grunted irritably, and his dark brows knit together. Just when he'd began to lose patience, the door swung open.

"Do pardon the wait! I-", a bespectacled man stood at the threshold. He was well into his fifties with a husky frame. His face broke into a warm smile at the sight of his friend, albeit it was tinged with worry and confusion when he laid eyes on the woman in his arms.

"Joseph, what in the world happened? Come in, come in." The older man gestured wildly, and helped his friend carry the girl up the stairs to the examination bed in his warm office. He checked her temperature and vital signs. Bernard thanked the heavens when he felt the flutter of a pulse in her neck.

"How did this happen?" He asked as his fingers hovered over the singed hair and slight burns on her arms and neck.

"I don't know, Bernard. I just found her in an alley like that on my way to work. By the looks of it, she's a dancer, but that's all I could really gather from her attire." Joseph sighed as he popped the bones of his back. He passed his hand over his faint scruff, and straightened his posture.

The redhead openly scowled at him in disapproval; how he hated it when he did that! _Such an awful habit,_ Bernard mused while he turned his attention back to the matter of the unconscious lady.

"...How odd. I haven't heard of any house-fires in the paper as of late. I'm not sure where she would have dealt these burns. Her leg is bruised as well, and it is possible that her ankle is sprained. Now wh-", his flushed face turned to see the brunet already half-way out the door. The doctor hurried after him, careful not to trip on the rug.

"Now wait a minute!" He grabbed Buquet's shoulder. "Where are you off to?"

"Work."

"You must be joking. Who in their right mind just leaves a young lady, an unconscious one mind you, by herself with a man she doesn't know and goes off to _work_?" Bernard's hands moved energetically as he rattled off. The frown on his face made the little crow's feet at the corners' of his eyes only more noticeable.

Joseph chuckled at the red-head's odd little quirks.

"Don't be daft, you idiot. I have a job to get to, how else am I supposed to pay you for helping her? Furthermore, you and I both know that you don't have the malice to do anything remotely indecent to one of your patients. Why else would I leave?"

The heavier man nodded reluctantly, and crossed his arms before replying:

"That, and I haven't the slightest doubt you'd castrate me."

"Without a second thought." Joseph flashed a crooked smile at him.

Bernard groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. With a shake of his head, he waved a dismissive hand at the younger man.

"Oh off with you, Buquet." He shooed the simpering man off his doorstep, and shut the door. The aging man leaned against the dark wood, massaging his temples.

"Good God, it's only seven in the morning I can already feel a migraine coming on."

It would be a long day.

* * *

Time passed quietly, and it was later in the day that the woman moved.

She awoke with a jolt. Her eyes opened wide; pupils dilated as they darted about frantically. Cold fingers clawed at bleached white sheets like they could keep her from falling through the mattress. One hand flew to her throat and she took large gulps of air.

The light assaulted her eyes and she blinked repeatedly. Her hands released the abused fabric from their vice grip to now gingerly cradle her head. Her tongue felt rough against her palate. Nina swallowed many times, but this only brought on violent fits of coughing. Her muscles screamed in protest with each contraction of her diaphragm. The pain jarred her senses.

 _Where was she? Why did her body hurt?_

The young woman coughed so hard she was sure she'd hack up a lung, trying in vain to smother it with the crook of her elbow.

"Here."

Her heart nearly leaped out of her ribcage at the sound. Her pulse accelerated when she made out the shape of a man standing beside her. A man that had not been there before. Or had he?... Nina really wasn't sure what was going on at the moment. She looked away, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him offering her a glass of ice water. Her body began to shake and she quickly crossed her arms. The girl pulled into herself as though she would become as small as a mouse and scurry away. She licked her chapped lips, glancing at the glass. Slender fingers twitched slightly.

 _Who was this man?_

She had no idea who he was, or what had happened.

Bernard cleared his throat. Raising a hand to push his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, the doctor released a breath he hadn't known he had been restraining. The sound cut through the tense silence like a surgeon's scalpel.

"My apologies if I startled you, mademoiselle. I am Doctor Bernard Gagne. I am sure you feel confused at the moment, but you must not worry, you are safe from harm."

He once again offered the glass to her. A kind albeit awkward smile graced his lips. The man was skilled at healing his patients, but interacting with women always proved to be a challenge.

Nina bit the inside of her cheek. Gnawing on it, she exhaled sharply from her nose. Her head moved and Bernard blinked in curiosity. _What an odd girl. Perhaps it would be best to allow her to settle her nerves._ He set the glass down on the instrument table beside the bed, and turned to the door. It was only once he had done this that she dared to reach out and grasp it.

She gulped down the cold liquid like she'd wandered the desert for days. The poor girl's hands continued to shake, and he swore he could feel the fear rolling off of her like a gentle mist. Her behavior was so very bizarre...could she be an escapee from Salpêtrière? An icy shudder slithered up his spine. Dabbing his forehead with his cotton handkerchief, Bernard glanced at the stranger enveloped in a cocoon of blankets. It reminded him of how a child might attempt to protect himself after a nightmare.

He really should alert Salpêtrière. He should, but Bernard was only too aware of his inability to send her to such a place. It was not so much a psychiatric hospital as it was a laboratory for the scientists. Even he was unaware of the entirety of its experiments or function. The physician's eyes gazed at the woman in his office.

No. He would have no peace of mind if he did such a thing. His conscience would not permit it. Furthermore, it was not terribly odd for a woman to feel so frightened after waking in unfamiliar surroundings. His eyebrows knitted together as his forehead creased in thought.

"Mademoiselle, if I may be so bold", his voice was kind and soft as though he were speaking to a spooked animal, "may I inquire as to your name? Your family perhaps?" At least this way he could find her relatives. She would need to rest after he treated her wounds.

Her dark eyes rose to his face. They immediately darted back to her knees, not that he was surprised. He waited for a response, but nothing came. She did not appear to be mute or deaf, but it was best not to assume anything just yet. The man knew she needed some time to compose herself.

He coughed into his handkerchief, "I shall return in a couple minutes, mademoiselle. I would like to converse with you after you feel more comfortable. Pardon me." He gifted her with a gentle smile that reached his eyes. Bowing his head respectfully, Bernard stepped out and shut the door behind him.

One hand adjusted his spectacles as the other reached into his pocket for his time-piece.

"Hurry back, man!" Bernard hissed at the pocket-watch. He prayed that the scene-shifter would return soon. Pacing impatiently about the hallway, he played with his fingers fretfully.

"I can fix the burns and bruises", he sighed quietly, "but without her cooperation it will certainly be difficult to escort her back to her family."

* * *

" **Dammit!** " Cried a young laborer as his supervisor cuffed him over the ear.

Rubbing at the stinging appendage the young blond frowned. Buquet sure had a heavy hand.

"You're not getting paid to stand about and stare at the dancers, Armand." The gray-eyed man fixed him with a solemn stare. His arms were crossed and he nodded to the ropes the lad had been placed in charge of. Honestly, sometimes it seemed like the only way to get these idiots to work was to give them a good ol' shiner.

"I'm not fond of repeating myself, so you better listen up." Joseph leaned down and was now face to face with Armand. "This is a theatre, not a whore-house, so unless you want to look for another job I suggest you take this seriously."

Armand sighed, "But I checked them already! They're just a few ropes." he grumbled under his breath. This only made the taller of the two narrow his eyes.

"They may just be a few ropes to you, but the laborers are in charge of making sure everything runs like clockwork. If anything were to go wrong, even the slightest mishap, people could get killed." The words were stern and dry. The chief was not one to joke about such matters.

Armand cleared his throat and nodded, "I'll get back to my post."

"Hm."

Joseph ran a hand through his hair and snorted. One hand rubbed at his eyes, and he found himself gazing into the shadows that pervaded the rafters. Something moved within the darkness and his jaw tensed, yet he did not move. Gray eyes searched for the creature that invaded his sleep with horrors that woke him more times than he could count. He could vividly remember the encounter on the little staircase by the footlights. It led to the cellar, and the urge to investigate pulled at him.

He looked away, and headed to his post. He passed by the seamstresses, many of them waving at him shyly. Joseph had enough civility in him to offer them a rough nod before he continued on his way. When he arrived, he immediately went through the motions of checking the ropes and tightening them when needed. Nevertheless, his mind was restless all the while.

He had stopped speaking of the incident once the rumor that he was half-mad spread around the opera. Really, he wasn't one for senseless talk, but he had done it more out of concern than for petty gossip. The ballet rats owned that tedious hobby.

Some of the men believed it to have been a joke, but Joseph knew better. Although he had only seen the ghost for a second, he was certain that what he had seen had been nothing but the truth. He was in no way superstitious, which in itself was odd for someone working in a theater. His eyes stared darkly at the ropes as he worked.

Someone had to see what was going on in those cellars...

Joseph nodded to himself. Yes, he would-

"Well I'll be _damned_." Whistles and catcalls interrupted his train of thought.

Joseph restrained the urge to growl. With a noisy exhale, he stiffened when Robert threw an arm around his shoulders and his _fellow idiots_ or 'friends', Louis and Jean joined them. They were all chuckling and appeared to have difficulty walking in a straight line.

 _'These bastards, drinking on duty...',_ the brunet had half a mind to slug them sober.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance.

"Why the long face, Buquet? I swear, ya work too hard-", a hiccup disturbed Robert's slurred speech momentarily, "ya need to head to the pub with us after work! Maybe you'll find yerself a good shag." His rancid breath wafted into his face; the smell made Joseph gag. Of course, alcohol and a romp between the sheets was all these good-for-nothings thought about.

"I'm not interested. Now-"

"Of course you ain't!" Louis laughed loudly, his already ruddy cheeks flushed from the drinks. He grabbed Buquet's jaw, forcing his sight upon the Spanish diva on the stage. She was dressed in a green dress that contrasted with her warm beige skin. However, as beautiful as she was, the hollow green eyes made the beauty wilt.

Louis leaned close to his ear, "You want a _lady_. Oh no, Buquet ain't satisfied with a regular broad...you want a woman of class." He leered at the diva.

Jean smirked with a suggestive gaze, "Such a pity that Carlotta is as much of a whore as the ballet rats. She slept her way to fame, not that it comes as a shock to anyone. How else would she have stayed so popular for these many years?"

"I myself wouldn't mind a tumble w-" A fist connected with the side of Robert's face, and sent him flying back against a railing. He spat blood onto the wooden floor; one hand cradling the swelling bruise. Joseph glowered down at him so fervently that he flinched.

"What the hell was that for? Are you out of your mind?" Louis yelled at the chief scene-shifter with shaking fists.

"If I were you, I would keep my mouth _shut_." This reply drew a nervous swallow from the men.

Joseph's voice was barely above a whisper, "because if you don't, you'll regret it." Once he'd finished, he calmly grabbed his coat and left. He had to, before he did something he would later regret. The inspection of the cellar would have to wait.

A pair of green eyes followed him for barely half a second, before they wandered back to the conductor.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the reading:3 Now on to the cinnamon roll who reviewed:

To **maraudergurl2010** : (O/O) That is my face right now, because of your review. It was very ironic that I got your review when I riding the doubt train. I really don't know what to say other than thank you, really, thank you. You charge my batteries with your observations and it is so appreciated. I'm so happy you like Nina! I was worried she came across as tedious, since I've seen so many OC's be these headstrong, bold women. Yep, I do love me some EAP, allow me to instruct you;) Yay! you noticed the quotes:D I'm ecstatic that you actually analyzed the style. Well, now that you read this chapter, I hope you liked it. Thanks for taking the time to review:)

Until next time, B.I.K


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